The Interview
by Faramir's Tumbleweed
Summary: Hello and welcome to the Gondorian National Network! Now if you would just click the link above, the full summary is inside! Thank you!


**Summary: **Hello and welcome to the Gondorian National Network! Now if you would just click the link above, the full summary is inside! Thank you!

**A/N: **If you haven't guessed who "Dennis" is by the end of the story (or while reading the **summary**), I suggest you go see a doctor.

**Disclaimer: **Dennis ain't mine.

"Is that thing on?" Anborn asked his cameraman, gesturing toward the black box. The cameraman slammed his hand on the side of the black box. The tiny square screen that popped out from the side fizzled, then flickered on. The cameraman gave Anborn a goofy smile and a thumbs-up. "Stupid Mordic invention," Anborn muttered. Then, pasted on a fake smile.

"Hello and welcome to the Gondorian National Network!" he said brightly. "I am your host, Anborn, hosting this show since the Fourth Age! On today's True Life Stories, we have our very own Gondorian citizen, Dennis! Please note that all names have been changed to protect identities. Please welcome him!"

The cameraman hit a button that said _Applause_. The sound of applauses filled the tiny studio. The studio darkened, till the person sitting on the chair was nothing but an anonymous sillhouette. The dark shape shifted, and then the shoulders rose and fell.

"So my name is Dennis," the shape said. "And my dad was a nice man. Yeah, he had one heck a lot of power and authority. I guess you could say I'm one lucky dude, having a dad with plenty of money and stuff like that. Kinda like Bill Gates."

Anborn whispered to his camerman: "Who's Bill Gates?"

The cameraman shrugged.

"Then I got married," the shape said. "Don't we all? I married this chick from Dol Amroth named Fin--like the fins on a fish, you know? She lived by the sea, anyway. Whatever. She was all pretty and stuff like that. But I don't think she was too happy here, 'cause she died, leaving _me _to care for two sons.

"Now the older guy, Bobby, he is a good kid. He don't do crack, don't drink, don't spend too much of his time burying his nose in riff-raff novels like _The Fall of Gil-galad_. My Bobby, he's a good guy. He's brave and stuff. I let him control much of Gondor's defences. There was this year I gave him a thing that my dad gave me--a horn. It was real pretty. I didn't want it anyway; I told him it was a family heirloom and he took it. And then one day, this guy delivers the horn to me. It got broke into two! And so I had the dumb horn back in my lap. What's more, it was now broken!"

The cameraman gave a soft whistle. "Poor guy," he whispered.

"The younger kid, Farran," the shape continued. "He was one lousy bugger. He spent so much time in his books and mags. Now, if he were readin' _Playboy _or something, I would be minding because boys will be boys, ya know." The shape laughed. "But he was reading stuff like _The Tale of Beren and Luthien_ and all that kind of crap! People say he was brave, but to me, he was nothing but useless crap. He couldn't even hold the defences in Osgiliath. Now, Bobby loved Farran like, a lot. He was always stickin' up for his little bro. Bobby had his crappy moments, too.

"Then this time, Bobby and Farran had these weird nightmares. I didn't listen to Farran, 'cause he was so young and li'l boys get nightmares everydy. But Bobby!" The shape whistled. "Man! I took him seriously. I sent him off--with the lousy horn, which he insisted on bringin'--to Imladris, somewhere in the North there. And as he rode outta the City, he was tootin' on his dad-blamed horn. Gawd! He never came tootin' back.

"So now! I had like, no choice but to depend of Farran for defences and stuff. And then that magician guy, Mitt and this dwarf named Piper came along. Mitt told me to 'make ready for war' and 'light the beacons' and all that crap. Well, I didn't listen to him.

"So one day, I decided I had to git rid of Farran, once and for all. So I sent him to recapture Osgiliath, which he _so clumsily lost to the hands of the opposing team_," here the shape stood up and yelled at the top of his voice,"and he nearly died. He didn't die though, dang. I underestimated him. So I tried to burn 'im." The shape laughed sarcastically. "Bad choice! Instead of Farran gettin' roasted like GFC chicken, _I _got roasted!"

"GFC?" Anborn whispered to the cameraman.

"Gondorian Fried Chicken," the camerman whispered back. "Popular until the King Elessar banned it last year."

The shape sighed. "So that's my story."

There were clicking sounds as the cameraman fumbled for the light-switch. Finally, he got it right.

The studio brightened again, but Dennis was nowhere to be seen. Anborn frowned and said, "Strange. He must've slipped out without us noticing." Anborn turned to the cameraman. "Yo, read to me the real name of this Dennis guy."

The cameraman, wanting to go for a cup of Starbucks--bad!--sighed and picked up a clipboard. He flipped a few pages back and read. His face paled. "Uh... Anborn? There's something you need to see. Now."

Anborn sighed and said, "What? You can't read or something?" He looked to where the cameraman's freckled finger was pointing. "What? It's just a nam--" His eyes bugged out. He read the name again. And reread it. And reread it.

The cameraman and Anborn stared at each other, and each uttered a ear-piercing shriek.


End file.
